Carnivale
by Evelette
Summary: The stench of rotting flesh and raw entrails was a poor substitute for the vanilla, coffee bean, sweat, and grease paint smelling RV she once deemed her own. And Daryl with his tough love, sarcasm, biting comments, and smelling like sweat, country and something remarkably masculine, might just be everything Guinevere isn't looking for. DarylOC
1. The Encounter

She spoke not a word, eyes of liquid amber glaring into the faded glass before her. Shoulder blades pressed out against her flesh, protruding at a perfect angle as her spine remained in perfect rigidity. Muscled, but thin arms were placed delicately in her lap, fingers laced together. She starred at her own reflection as the phantom figures moved around her. The spiderweb cracks in the aged glass preventing her from seeing how she truly looked, it distorted the image of herself and the chatting voices around her to utter stillness. She could see the exuberant flickers of red in her costume and the contrasting ebony, but nothing definite. The mirror split her into twisted dimensions. A stick of eyeliner slipped as she winced as the utensil shoved quite painfully into her eye. A soft apology was the only word her ears discerned before the drones surrounding her faded into background noise as they preened, plucked, and prodded her.

Once satisfied, cooing and cawing over their abstract work, the phantoms left her, silence descending in the small room. The heat was stifling, making her nearly wish to mimic a dog as it panted for a cooling breeze but alas, no such hope would find her. What little dignity she managed to keep seemed to keep her from acting so undignified. She rose, the cracked and unbalanced bar stool wobbling dangerously as she drifted to the floor length mirror, eying herself with little interest. Long, seemingly endless legs, a waist that was merely a hairs width away from being too thin and a bust that was ample, but not overly so... pulled high by the tightly laced corset. The make-up, of course, was atrocious. A thin black star trailing across the entire right side of her face, its focal point being her eye, the other side remained bare and had she been a lesser woman she would have snorted at the preposterous look. It made her look like a garnished carnival freak... oh wait... she was.

She turned to the door of the room, eyes glancing at her props with a keen sense of love and appreciation. One of very few things that still brought a twinkle to her eyes. Lovingly she caressed her blades, a jealous caw erupting from the corner of the room as the predator punishingly launched itself from its perch and dug its talons into her shoulder. She winced, but hummed softly, soothing the animal perched precariously upon her. The door opened as if on cue and she sighed, steeling her face into a mask of wicked seduction with just a hint of something dangerous before exiting. Blades and bird, heavy in hand.

* * *

A moan, a groan of absolute pain and agony tore through the air, and the creatures companions perked at the noise. Their brethren was taking its final faltering steps... which meant something living, breathing, thinking had brought about its demise. A putrid, symphonic moan that could have been mistaken for an abstracted rumble erupted from those that still possessed vocal cords as they turned, facing the source of the noise with a blood lust settling heavily in foggy eyes. The thrill of live and bounding flesh sent saliva oozing from open sores in their mouths, jaws snapped and clicked, aching to crunch through tender flesh and bone. The promise of such a succulent meal drove them forward. They would not be disappointed.

The cold gleam of steel would temporarily blind the mindless creatures as it was yanked from the gray brain matter of the now thoroughly deceased walker. A darkened, near black blood oozed from the blade like drool, its satisfaction at claiming another life. Its twin, an equally crooked and cruel slice of metal joined its brother as their master whirled them through the air. They were wicked blades. Short, thick handles bound in leather, the blade, nearly four feet long, wasn't straight, but in fact curved entirely, arching in two perfectly sculpted half circles. A whizzing sound erupted above the moans as the two were twirled expertly, biceps tensing and relaxing as their master spun them with fluid dexterity. In one breath, a single gleam of steel caught the sun, before it shattered teeth and sunk through the base of a walkers spine. The walker, now crippled, crumbled to the earth with a sickening crunch, never to move again. A second breath and its twin followed suit, crashing through the nose of another and sinking deep into the skull, the corpse joined the others.

The cruel steel now gone, no longer distracting and the target, the ultimate goal was realized. It came in the form of a woman. A fake fur collar, bounced and shifted as she did, shielding her neck, it was attached to a thick leather vest, synched tight around her waist with a belt of matching material the sheaths belonging to both deadly creations of steel, banged against her legs. A collection of knives and other small weaponry adorned the belt. beneath the vest, a white puffy shirt, possibly once a mans dress shirt, billowed about her arms. Her legs were clad in pants crafted of both suede and leather and they vanished into black boots of which the hilts of two knives protruded from.

They charged their prey, intent on chewing, gnawing into that succulent flesh. They would get no chance. Like a panther unleashed, she pounced, driving blades and wrenching them free with heart stopping accuracy, the small herd of six were dispatched and rotting corpses upon the ground in a matter of minutes. She wretched her blades free, those two precious, cruel, curved creations. They slid into their home with the softest of snickets, it nearly made her shiver. She brought a gloved hand up and wrenched the leather off, before bringing her fingers to her mouth and whistling long and low.

Honeyed eyes, hard and calloused gazed about the abandoned landscape as she waited. She could remember riding in the back of some RV and touring the vast majority of these highways. She could remember hours spent gazing out the fogged and painted windows, wondering what life would have been like had the world been kinder to her... but then again, the world wasn't kind to anyone. A loner, an oddball, had always suited her. Sure, she had joined the occasional drunken party, had celebrated a holiday or two that she couldn't remember half of, she wasn't... or perhaps she hadn't been such an odd duck that she never socialized, but she had never found her niche. Not until she lost her family... and she had lost them long before the zombies began crawling the earth in search of fresh blood.

"Damn it Dillinger..." The growl left her lips in an impatient drawl, and no sooner had they escaped her than the caw of her only companion caught her attention from high above and eyes turned to the blue sky, the familiar Peregrine falcon circling high. A soft grunt emitted from her mouth and she reached for the pouch that hung from her belt, pulling the thick leather glove from it and sliding it easily over her fingers. The predator wasted no time in swooping low, dropping the slain hare into her hand and perching precariously upon her lower arm. She hummed softly in praise, and the bird stretched its wings once, twice, three times, and then settled fully. A coy smile tilted the edge of her mouth, this was the only companion she would ever need.

* * *

They traveled for two days, and they needed to rest. She and the bird could do with a days reprieve. The falcon was trained well, had failed only once to bring back some kind of prey when she had sent him out, in a time like this... one couldn't be picky, she ate, and shared, whatever he brought her. She knew their were other survivors, had to be. On occasion, she could still hear a far away scream, one that didn't belong to a walker. But she wasn't a hero, never was, never had been. She looked out for herself, and then worried about everyone else, she was skilled with a blade, but not enough to go charging into the heart of a city, she had a bit more intelligence than that. The last thing she wanted was some shrieking banshee that lost her mind every time a cockroach crawled across their path. She had no desire to risk her life for someone that had no experience with a weapon. If she was going to join one of these refugee camps, their better damn well be some others who could pull their own weight.

Her reprieve came in the form of an abandoned farmhouse, a thick field of lush grass spread out to the right and a barn that looked like it would be locked up good and tight a little off to the right. The bird cooed, a low rumble and she rolled her eyes, slinging the ferret over her shoulder and heading for the barn. "Yes...yes Dillinger, we can eat now." They cooked up the ferret over an old fire pit, amongst the gravel around the farm, she fed the bird plenty of meat to keep him healthy, strong and hunting and claimed the rest for herself. As darkness descended, she headed into the barn, sealing and locking the doors up tight behind her. Dillinger had already seated himself amongst the rafters, content to be perched high above the ground. She settled in one of the stalls, laying against the wooden planks amongst the hay. She frowned as her mind wandered, she wondered if any of her coworkers, the closest she had ever gotten to a real family, had survived? If anyone had the gall to find a way out of tough situations it was her people, but then again, no one really had a choice when it came to something like a virus. You couldn't fight your way through that with pigheaded stubbornness alone, once you were bit... you could kiss your ass goodbye. Her eyes scanned the barn seeking anything that could be useful to her... the axe perhaps? She didn't have much experience wielding one. She was better with her own blades, her own knives, not much use in wielding a weapon one is unfamiliar with. She sighed softly... for now, all she needed to do, was sleep.

* * *

She awoke to an unmistakeable bang... gunfire. She was on her feet in a second, Dillinger gave a squawk of fright. She ignored the beast for now and took favor of climbing high up into the rafters and scaling the creaking beams to the windows that opened up into the flat fields. There were three. Two woman and an older gentleman, fending off what appeared to be a mass of ten zombies, and hell if they didn't seem to be doing alright.

She watched the elder gent valiantly try to save the two bruised and battered girls, one of which was using her own pistol against the walkers. She frowned from her position in the barn. To help or not to help? Swinging down she opened the doors and grabbed her twins twirling them twice before before increasing her pace, she swung hard as she drew near decapitating one poor soul in a mighty swing. Blood and flesh flew off in every direction as she plunged the other into a stomach of another. She could hear the unearthly squelch as the blade sliced through organs once vital and liberated them through the gaping hole left by the curved blade. Another gunshot and another rang out, two were left standing, a final gunshot took out one and she charged plunging both pieces of sharpened steel into the eye sockets of the last. The blades ripped through the back of the creatures skull and it collapsed to the earth as it sank down on the sharpened end, successfully splitting the remainder of its skull in two.

"Who are you?" The voice was powerful, commanding and she turned, returning the wicked blades to their home. She watched the woman carefully, taking note of the fact that the gun was now pointed at the focal point of her own chest...wonderful. She slowly raised her arms in false surrender, showing she had no intention of harm. The woman did not falter, begrudgingly, she gave the woman some respect, it took some balls to stare down someone at point blank range.

"Names Guinevere, I'm not bitten, can you lower the gun?" Her voice was low and rumbling with an almost calming effect. The older gent placed his hand on the womans shoulder and slowly she lowered the weapon, hard eyes locking and glaring. Wisely she didn't make much effort to move. It was the elder gentleman that moved forward first, offering his hand, it took her mildly by surprise, but she quickly remembered that this wasn't the old days, this was the coming of the first horseman of the apocalypse. Death perched upon the blazing white stead of Pestilence.

"Dale is my name, this is Andrea and her sister Amy." For politeness only, she shook his hand, offering the small group a once over as they did the same to her. She dipped her head towards the other two and they copied her movement. "Pleasure I'm sure... where are you coming from so I know where to avoid?" Her tones weren't cold, but they weren't warm either. They glanced among one another and shrugged, Dale was the one to speak a second time.

"Pretty far from here, I was taking a road trip in my RV when the virus hit the world, I guess my vacation got extended indefinitely." Dale smiled and she couldn't help but crack a small grin. She could tell he was a soul that was genuinely nice. She wondered if he might forgive a zombie for attempting to eat through his intestines. "Were headed towards Atlanta, apparently the CDC set up a refugee camp, were moving to join it... you're welcome to come with us if you'd like, we've got enough room for another stray... have you got anyone else with you?"

It was her turn to crack a smile as she raised a hand to her lips and whistled. A few breaths later and the bird swooped low, flapping its wings a few times dominantly as it settled on her shoulder. "If you wanna count Dillinger as an extra mouth to feed than sure, I got him." She lifted a hand to stroke the top of his head, he cooed lovingly, leaning into the warmth of her palm. "Hes not like most falcons, I raised him from the moment he hatched and I fear I may have babied him just a bit too much."

"That is so cool! Were you a falconer?" Amy chimed up, eyes wide and excited as she eyed the predator perched on her shoulder. She shook her head, long hair drifting about her shoulders. A strange gleam entered her eyes as she bit her bottom lip, denying her past. She wasn't ready to give up her other life. Confirming that it was her past existence, made her face the fact that she was now killing those she once performed for. No... she wasn't ready to admit that just yet.

"No I wasn't, although several friends told me I should have been. If you don't mind us tagging along I'll accompany you to Atlanta, as a thanks, you've got my weapons and Dillinger at your disposal should you have need of us." She murmured and Andrea cracked a smile at the name, laughing softly.

"Dillinger? As in John Dillinger?" Andrea laughed lightly and Guinevere grinned in kind, shrugging her shoulders up and then down. The birds head careened at the sound of its name. Twisting this way and that as he peered at these bizarre new people. He wasn't fond of strangers, had even given a guy nine stitches for attempting to pet him once.

"The 1930's were a cool time, it was either that or Capone, if I ever get a second falcon, you can pick the next name, providing of course its an infamous gangster." Guinevere smiled and Andrea laughed, nodding her head in affirmation.

"Deal." Dale motioned towards the RV that had been left forgotten until now.

"Lets get to know each other better in the RV, I would prefer my first memory of Guinevere, not to be Walker entrails, plus its a bit safer than out in a field like proverbial sitting ducks." Dale smiled and the three others nodded, before following along behind, they climbed into the RV as the first rays of sunlight were breaking over the horizon, A soft caw voiced Dillinger's displeasure of the tiny space and she shushed him, offering him a small strip of the ferret they had saved for later, he greedily gulped it down.

"Alright guys, make yourself comfortable, we've got a long way to go before we hit Atlantic city!" Dale started up the vehicle and the thing lurched into motion. For a moment she wasn't in this strange car, she was back in that beat up dusty van that coughed and sputtered when its driver went above sixty five and the windows were painted and foggy but you could still make out the various shapes of the highway. She was home, back in that oddly smelling RV of vanilla, coffee beans, sweat and grease paint, but in a split second it was gone and Amy was inquiring about Dillinger. With a small smile she dutifully answered as Amy grew more and more excited, obviously fascinated by the bird... perhaps this was the first step at moving on.


	2. A Hunt In The Woods

koryandrs- Thank you so much! We get some Daryl in this one!

jhans0717- I intend to make this fairly drawn out, parts and bits of the story that were skipped over or just never explained! I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far and enjoy!

SexySelena666- Tehehe! Aww you're gonna make me blush! Thank you so much! I've got some interesting twists for this story so I hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

Silence. The soft, whimsical melody of a grand piano being the only sound that colored the world. Blinding lights made her audience nothing more than a figment of her imagination as she moved into the ring. The ghastly circus outfit gleamed and sparkled in the fierceness of the lights and somewhere off in the distance, the Ringmaster spoke of her, announcing her beauty, her grace and her name to the eagerly awaiting crowds. A drawn in breath of disbelief, a longing breath of love and cheers erupted loud enough to be heard from space, she paused before the entire arena lit and she removed her falcons leather mask. The bird wasted no time, launching itself from its perch upon her leather glove, it soared above the audience. A piece of meat upon a lure was dragged through the air with efficiency, grace and skill. The audience cooed as the beautiful bird passed inches above their heads, she did this several times and all the while the Ringmaster gave them their background.

"Hailing from gorgeous, far away lands, both beauty and beast have perfected this dance of equal grace, skill, precision and strength. Together since the birth of the falcon, the creature responds to her commands and her commands only. Beauty and her beast have perfected this despondent friendship in a test of skill to impress you all... please, my friends, do not be shy! Mistress nor animal will be frightened by your applause, show your appreciation!" His booming voice colored the air and an eruption of screams echoed out so vast and so wide, she feared for a moment that Dillinger would become distracted, but the bird was keen, its eyes locked upon the target she cast the lure into the air and he struck. His wings covered his prey shielding it from the outside world and the Ringmaster's voice rushed to calm the crowd.

"The kill is struck! The bird successful! What have you have just witnessed is called lure flying, it increases the keen eye on the bird and helps bond both trainer and avian. What you're seeing now is called a mantle, the bird shields its prey with its wings to protect its prey from any other potential predators intent on stealing its rightful meal." Guinevere bent down and Dillinger hopped animatedly back up and onto her arm as she offered him several strips of the meat. "She gives the bird a reward so that he will remain keen for future flights and future hunts... to fist and to feast sweet Guinevere!" She placed the birds hood back on and handed him off to an assistant as she drew her two wickedly curved blades. "Now ladies and gents if that is all you think this gorgeous woman can do, prepare to be amazed and dazzled, her next trick is an audience favorite!" Guinevere prepared herself as the music started.

* * *

They picked up stragglers like stray cats and dogs and soon there band of three had become a small group of misfit toys. A cop and his ex-partners wife and kid, a family complete with one abusive husband, and a handful of other stragglers. Guinevere viewed the group as quite possibly the most bizarre and unethical group of 'friends' ever to be made, but who was she to be picky when the vast majority of people she knew were probably more or less intent on eating her... and not in the fun way, and even before they had turned into flesh devouring zombies, they hadn't exactly been the most wondrous of crowds. Best to stay out of other peoples affairs or so she had come to learn.

It was a crisp, cool morning as she stalked through the forest with Shane. He had fast become the group leader and she liked the man. He had the balls to make hard decisions and he did so quickly and efficiently. He told life how it was in simple black and white. He didn't hide or candy coat anything. She respected that, and she imagined he sensed it... which was probably why she was his hunting buddy and not anyone else from the group. Her two blades banged against her legs as she stepped over a fallen log, far off, she knew Dillinger to be successfully dragging back something, but that was hardly a meal for she and the bird, never mind the rest of the group.

"You seem to be pretty handy with those blades Gweny... I've never seen anyone quite so agile." Shane's rumbling voice was lowered to a whisper and over her shoulder she shot him a small smile, shrugging her shoulders uncommitted.

"Would you arrest me if I said I used them during my day job as an assassin?" The sarcastic words fell from her lips in a low chuckle and Shane snorted barely suppressing the grin. He shook his head maniacally, shaggy hair falling in every which direction as he denied her words.

"I don't think so, rather have you on my side than against it." He side-stepped around her with a grin and she rolled her eyes, fingers itching for the throwing knives rather than the curved blades. The massive things didn't do much in the realm of hunting. "Its nice to know that someone's got my back."

"Its about survival now ya? No one's past really matters. If you were a cop that's fine and dandy, and if you were a schizophrenic that just saw daylight for the first time in twenty years, we just need to make sure you take your meds, but it wouldn't much effect my opinion of you." Guinevere snorted and Shane's suppressed laughter echoed in her ears.

"See? This is why I like you Gweny... your honest. Ain't nobody can fault ya for dishonesty." He offered the strange compliment but she took it for genuine. Her and Shane got along nicely. It was clear he was accustomed to being a leader, and she had no desire or will to become one. Best to shut up, follow along, and be of some damn use... perhaps that's why they got along so fabulously? They both fell still and silent as a rustling noise was heard, followed by the unmistakable click if an armed pistol. They bristled, tense, ready, and waiting, her grip shifted from the throwing knives to the long blades and she crouched, low in the bushes awaiting whatever might come.

"Well, well, well Daryl, look at the rats we got hiding in the underbrush!" A distinctly Southern accent cracked through the air as the most gritty looking man she had ever seen strode from between the trees like he owned them a heavy pistol in his hand. The aforementioned Daryl, or at least she assumed as such trailing behind, crossbow steadily in hand. She copied Shane's movements as he stepped out. "Oh ho ho! My mistake! Rat and lady!" The man swept into a sarcastic bow. Shane flinched, stepping almost protectively in front of her, she let him, this wasn't her place.

"I would watch my tongue if I were you. You wouldn't be the first cocky son of a bitch I blew a hole in." Shane's voice had gone from playful to venomous, quite a vast difference and she remained silent, she had a feeling he wouldn't need her unless it got ugly, in which case she was a short distance fighter and seemed to be at a disadvantage. The man put up his hands in mock surrender.

"Hey now, we ain't lookin' for a fight just making casual conversation!" He laughed as though it was funny and turned to face his brother. "Its just been me and my brother Daryl here... names Merle... c'mon Daryl don't be shy say hi!" His voice was filled with false exuberance and the leaner, silent one gave a grunt of irritation. His apparent answer to his brothers obnoxious behavior. Shane relaxed only slightly.

"Shane, and this here is Guinevere. If you only here to cause trouble, you go your own way and we'll go ours, we ain't got no time for problems. If your willing to help out and your tired of being alone, your welcome to come with us, but we don't take kindly to those who try to screw us over... do I make myself clear?" His statement was punctuated by the angered caw of Dillinger and Guinevere raised her head, subconsciously shifting herself so he could come too her with greater ease. Swooping down and perching upon her shoulder, the squirrel he had procures falling into her opened palm as he situated himself. "Send him out again if he can take it Gwen, were gonna need more than one." Shane murmured and Merle strode forward several paces, Shane had his gun trained on him faster than she could blink.

"You're gonna leave her and that bird alone if your coming with us." Guinevere whispered a soft command to the bird and he took off, a bullet vanishing into the cloudless sky as she slung the carcass over her shoulder. Merle locked gazes with her and for a long moment, silence stressed, an understanding seemed to pass between them. Merle lowered his weapon and held out his hand to Shane. Daryl stepped forward, obviously content if Merle was content and offered his hand to her.

"Daryl." His voice was deep, gravely, grainy, and quiet. She nodded her head and accepted the out-stretched arm. "Guinevere." The two brothers switched and after a quick rundown and acceptance, the four set off back for camp. Better to introduce the newbie's, before the sun went down and someone turned trigger happy.

Merle and Shane moved to the head of the group, chatting amongst one another. Guinevere could tell by both men's postures that neither were particularly thrilled about working together, but both seemed to realize that there was power in numbers, not just in the skill of a pistol. She and Daryl hung back, walking in a relatively peaceful and relaxed silence.

"What does that bird of yours hunt?" Daryl's voice was low, cautious, quiet, and even so she nearly startled at the sound of it. She could tell he was a quiet person, and that was impacted by his desire not to disturb the two leaders that strode in front of them. She shook off the thoughts and glanced at the sky subconsciously, looking for her oldest companion.

"Dillinger? He brings me ferrets, mice, rats, squirrels, the occasional ground hog... any small sized rodent." She murmured back in a tone just as soft. Shane needed to establish his role as a leader to Merle, she had a feeling Daryl wanted nothing to do with the responsibility and easily fell, like she into a more grunt position. Shut up, survive, move on. Daryl cocked a brow at the birds unusual name but said nothing on the subject.

"Where did you learn to wield a blade?" Low and soft, his inquiry came fast and she smiled if only slightly, hand reaching down to trace the sharpened curve of the sheath almost lovingly as they moved against her legs. She shook her head, denying him an answer.

"Where did you learn to shoot a crossbow?" Her response was spoken with a teasing lit. He had gotten his one question it was her turn. It didn't phase him in the slightest, he grunted and with a shrug of his shoulders, failed to give a committed answer.

"Dad taught me, huntin'." He paused for a moment and she nodded it was a fair enough answer. "Your blades?" His light eyes focused on her, pinning her to the spot where she stood. She wouldn't get away without answering him.

"I was a circus performer." Surprise briefly flickered through his eyes at that, then again no one really expected that answer. "A falconer, fire dancer, and a sword swallower." She listed off her three tricks. "Back before all hell broke loose the handles of these two held kerosene. They were lit on fire and I preformed a dance." She shrugged her shoulders, it was child's play too her. Three shows a night at least four days a week for five years? It had gone from hazard to habit.

"I take it you used a different blade to swallow?" He watched her as they walked, and she nodded. "Ya I had a twin set of unsharpened rapiers that I used. It's pretty simple once you get the hang of it, but these would have killed me had I tried to swallow one of these." She chuckled softly, not even wanting to imagine that curved blade sliding down her esophagus. They strode back in companionable company, he asked questions about her performance, while she asked him about his life. It was almost normal, the natural ease and flow to the conversation, it was a nice change of pace, it felt like talking to Shane. Easy, no strain, no drama.

As they approached the small encampment, a frown tugged at her lips. They were good people, yes, true, but they could be a bit much at times. A chuckle erupted from the Southern man next to her and a smirk played about his lips. She half heartedly glared at him and rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't look so smug, you and Merle are new bait, they're gonna be all over you two, you'll be lucky to catch a few winks of sleep." She smiled lightly back and Daryl shook his head, a grin playing about his mouth.

"This crossbow ain't for show." He grunted and she shook her head. Shane was already calling the group to order, but Merle seemed to be doing a bang up job of introducing himself. Daryl remained quietly with her, until Merle introduced him and the coyotes turned their attention. Guinevere stayed where she was, waiting for them to drag the two new additions away, when a heavy hand coiled around her arm.

"Guinevere." Shane's cold eyes locked with hers and immediately she got the hint, following him willingly, she turned back to look at Daryl, realizing how rude she had been not bothering to say goodbye, only to find those misty eyes following her, ignoring Andrea, Dale, and Carol that stood directly to his left. She smiled what she hoped to be encouragingly up at him and he smirked, dipping his head once and turning back to the group. Guinevere smiled, perhaps this socializing thing wasn't so hard after all.


End file.
